Crunch Time
by CrumbsUK
Summary: The team must set aside their own frustrations in order to solve a busy early morning callout consisting of a dead restaurant owner, a mutilated jogger and a suspected suicide. Chronicles of Las Vegas - 1x02
1. Part 1 of 4

Disclaimer: I do not own CSI or its affiliated characters. Characters not in the series are my own.

A/N: This is the second story in my series, _Chronicles of Las Vegas_. It's not necessary to read the first story, _A Midsummer Nightmare_ in order to understand this story but if you want to go through from the beginning, that would be your starting point. :)

* * *

><p>They had closed up half an hour ago, but he still had work that needed to be done and he felt that not having the stress of a constant influx of customers would get the job done faster. He sat alone in his dimly lit office, possessed by the monitor of his computer, typing faster than his brain could process. Every now and then he'd stop for a moment and delete a line of what he had written, deciding it was not good enough. He contemplated over the day, it had been an eventful one to say the least, his schedule was packed and there had not even been enough time to change into a less formal outfit.<p>

A photo on his desk caught his attention, it was of his wife, a beautiful woman of his age, long brown hair complimented her emerald green eyes, and her facial features were perfect in every aspect. He was holding her and his daughter in her arms, a spitting image of himself; she had his brown eyes, his button nose and his mousy-brown hair, although hers were braided into pigtails.

"I'm sorry I missed you again, babe," he spoke to the photo of his daughter. It was the third night in a row he'd been forced to do overtime at the restaurant, business wasn't booming as usual, it had been a tough year so far finances had decreased and he'd been forced to lay off a few staff. He hated doing that, but it was a necessary evil to keep the business alive.

The man got up to make himself a cup of coffee, however the pot was empty which meant his supplies had run out for the night. Conceding defeat in favour of sleep, the man shut down his computer and grabbed his coat as he prepared to leave. The office was a tip, but then again he could leave it for the cleaning staff to mop up in the morning. He approached the door but then he heard a knock on the door, just before he had reached it.

"Who's there?" He called out. It was almost quarter to one, 'who on earth knocks at this time?' He thought to himself.

"It's me," the person on the other side replied. He was sure he recognised the voice from somewhere but he couldn't match it to a name or face.

"Who's me?"

"Just open the door and find out, you fool," the person behind the door said in a light-hearted manner. He decided that he had to leave anyway so he had no choice but to open the door, still attached to the chain, to see a familiar face standing there.

"Oh," his face brightened up, he unchained the door and invited the man inside, "it's you, you should have said before! Come in, come in."

* * *

><p>The sun shined brightly on what was looking to be another sweltering Friday in June, despite only being out in the sun for less than ten minutes, Catherine was already starting to feel hot and sticky in the dry Nevada climate. She could see that Greg was similarly feeling the same, today he was sporting a cap which she knew was generally abandoned unless absolutely necessary.<p>

The two of them were ushered towards a room on the far right side of the restaurant where they were greeted by Jim Brass, notebook and paper in hand, "cleaning crew found him," Brass pointed to a couple of tall ladies both babbling their statements to Officer Mitchell. "The victim is a Mr Roland Herriot, owner of the imaginatively named Herriot Steakhouse."

"Yeah, I've eaten here a couple of times," Greg said looking around the room, "they do a mean sirloin."

"Yeah, well I think you should get food off your mind before you go in, it ain't pleasant."

The two of them were led under the crime scene tape and into the office of Roland Herriot. The room was a mess; papers lay scattered on the floor, books had been taken off the shelf and flung anywhere, various decorations lay shattered on the floor as if the room had been hit by a tornado. Greg immediately moved to the left hand side of the room to take photos. The body lay on the floor behind the desk, a pool of blood had emerged from the head and David was crouching over it, recording various observations. Catherine noted the large amount of blood spatter which covered the walls around them. Brass was right, Hazmat were going to be busy.

"Okay David," Catherine walked over to where he was crouched, "tell me about the body."

"Liver temp was ninety-two," David read off his notes, "suggests TOD was approximately four hours ago, means lividity isn't fixed yet. Could you err, help me roll him." Catherine complied, making sure the body didn't flail around as David examined, "large head wound and a second smaller wound at the back of the head, possible blunt force trauma, consistent with the blood spatter around the room. No signs of a gunshot wound or any stabbing, I'd say your victim was beaten, by something heavy."

"Thanks David." Catherine continued to process the room, taking photographs as she examined the blood spatter and searched for anything which could inflict the damage visible to Roland Herriot's head. Something quickly caught her eye; the computer monitor on the desk looked askew, not in line with the position of the desk. Furthermore, she noticed a small amount of what looked to be blood on the corner of the monitor. Testing with hydrogen peroxide confirmed her findings, whether it belonged to the victim was another matter. "I got blood here."

"There's blood everywhere, Cath," Greg pointed out. He bent down and looked at each of the books which had been discarded on the floor, "it's pretty obvious there was a struggle here. But judging from the position of these books, I wouldn't say they were accidentally knocked off, they look as if they were thrown off by someone. It looks like whoever was in here was searching for something."

"Krabby Patty Formula?" Catherine joked, Greg gave her a blank look, but then again he'd never had a growing child, "don't worry."

Greg smiled to himself; he was reminded of the weird looks many of his co-workers had given him having said something unrelated or inappropriate. "I got a bloody shoe impression," he took a photograph of the print, "hey, do you have any Fluorescent Blood Lifting Strips? I haven't restocked yet."

"Preparation Greggo," she smiled at him, "I've got a few in mine, just have a look in my kit and no, you're not gonna find what I think you're thinking of in there."

Greg smirked and went fishing around for what he needed whilst Catherine looked around to see if there was anything which could have been a murder weapon. Intact snow globe, no. Piggy bank, unlikely, it was still in one piece. Russian nesting dolls, unlikely, there were no signs of blood on them. There weren't any instruments around which could have been used; the killer could have bought his own weapon.

"Catherine," Brass had re-entered the room, moving out of the way to let David push the body out on the gurney, "I'm moving half my guys out. We got another four-nineteen out on Industrial; let's just say that Hazmat will be having a very fun day."

"Okay, we'll be finishing up here shortly anyway," she lifted off one last print from the bookshelf and turned back to Jim. "This city just never sleeps."

"Well, it's all good for the job."

* * *

><p>"Oh man, I hate it when we get the early morning callouts," Nick complained to Sara as they got out of the Denali, "why can't they wait til after shift's over to dial nine-one-one?"<p>

"You know how it is Nick," Sara responded, "we get everything from midnight to eight am. Prime time."

There was no hiding the frustration in Sara's voice, she too, was annoyed at being called out just half an hour before shift was due to end and following an uneventful seven and a half hours of paperwork and playing "flick the paper ball into the waste basket" she just wanted to go home and put her feet up. Worst of all was that this was the third time it had happened that week, which meant that yet again she was going to have to pull a double.

"This city just never sleeps," she muttered to herself.

The two CSIs were led round the back of a plumbing shop where there were two police cars and several unis standing around the crime tape. The CSIs were greeted by a Detective Vega who looked grim and particularly tired in the morning heatwave. "I hope you have a strong stomach," he warned them, "I already got two of my units puking and it ain't because of the heat."

Sara and Nick walked under the tape and approached the body of a white male who couldn't have been any older than twenty-five. He was dressed in sports attire and his cap was covering his face, the Rolex on his wrist suggested he was rather wealthy. It would have looked like he'd simply took a nap in the shade were it not for the fact that his torso had been sliced open, like a 'Y' incision, from the throat all the way to the naval, the skin folded over showing off his internal organs to the world.

"Nice," Nick said sarcastically, "Thanksgiving's not supposed to be for another five months."

"It looks like someone tried to perform an autopsy on him," Sara said, ignoring Nick's comment, "only they lost interest and just, dumped him here. I presume they dumped him, there's not nearly enough blood at the scene for this type of wound."

"Well whatever it was, it must be some kind of crime of passion, or something symbolic," Nick concluded, "if you're gonna kill someone, you do it quickly, you generally don't waste time cutting them open."

"Could be torture?"

"Maybe but I mean this could have been done post mortem, we'll have to see what autopsy tells us." He adjusted his cap, keeping the glazing sun from blinding him as he took a closer look at the body, "Chrysomya rufifacies."

Sara gave him a blank look, "Can you say that again? But not in gobbledigook?"

"Has your husband not taught you anything?" Nick laughed, "Blowfly larvae, these fellers have started hatching which suggests this guy's been dead about twenty-four hours, possibly less if he's been out in the heat all day, that generally speeds up their life cycles."

"Grissom would be so proud," she teased.

"Yeah, well I bet you didn't know that the female blowfly can smell blood from ten miles away and she can lay up to five hundred eggs at one time and over two thousand in her whole life."

"Don't push it. Hey, I got some substance here by the dumpster, but I don't think it's blood." She knelt down and sniffed it, "urine." At that moment Sara's pager began beeping, which forced a frustrating growl out of Sara, "Damn it. Suspicious death in Henderson. Could be suicide. Sorry Nick, I'm gonna have to go to this one."

"Seven fifty-three as well, bad luck. I should be alright on my own for this one. Enjoy."

Nick watched as Sara walked over to one of the officers who would take her down to the scene in Henderson. Nick turned his attention back to the scene and began taking photographs and looking for anything out of the ordinary. He found a few gravitational blood drops; perfectly circular leading up to the body but there was no sign of any blood spatter elsewhere on the scene.

"Hey Vega," he called out to the detective who was taking a statement from a distressed elderly woman, presumably the owner of the plumbing shop, "did you get any ID from the vic?"

"No not yet," he replied, "Shop owner says she's never seen him before and found him as she was taking the trash out. I haven't checked the body for ID, not until the coroner's here."

"I'm here, I'm here," came a high pitched voice belonging to David, who had arrived on cue, "sorry I'm late. Oh and was that Sara just leaving then?"

"Yeah," Nick replied, "she got called out to another scene. You're gonna have a fun day."

David sighed and replied forcefully, "this city just never sleeps." He walked over to the body and crouched down beside it noting, "Hmm, looks like someone started without me."

"I estimated that judging by the larvae beginning to hatch on the body that he's been dead no longer than twenty four hours, could you confirm that?"

"Well, the body's no longer in rigor mortis which suggests he's been dead a while, but lividity isn't fixed which suggests your body's been moved. I'd probably estimate a TOD between twelve and twenty four hours."

"How about taking a liver temp?"

"Well judging by the nature of his wounds, his internal organs have become more exposed to the elements; it won't get you an accurate time of death."

"Okay, thanks Super-Dave."

Nick proceeded to conducting a sketch map of the crime scene, taking more photos of the scene to refer back to. In reality, there was nothing else to collect really and he was just waiting for David to release the body. He saw David patting the body down and that he had pulled out a wallet, handing it to Nick. "I got some ID of the vic."

"Let's see then," Nick muttered to himself as he walked towards Detective Vega whilst sifting through the victim's wallet. "Got a few bills in here, plenty of cards, rules out robbery as a motive. The victim is a Mr Joseph Huyt, twenty four years old and is residing in, Victorville, California?"

"Victorville?" Vega responded, equally surprised, "well Vegas attracts people from all over, one massive tourist trap."

"Yeah," Nick nodded in agreement, "well, we know someone certainly lured Joseph Huyt into that trap."

* * *

><p>"Your victim put up quite a fight," Doc Robbins began recounting his findings to Catherine, who stared at the lifeless body on the slab, "I found multiple defensive wounds, bruises on the knuckles and some skin underneath his fingernails. I've sent that to DNA."<p>

"Well that'll certainly give us a suspect," Catherine noted, with a hint of optimism, "what about the contusions all over his face?"

"Well, your victim took a bit of beating before death, but I suppose you're wondering what your COD is." Catherine nodded and Doc Robbins continued, "your victim suffered multiple blows to the head. This," he wandered behind the body and indicated the smaller wound, "looks to be caused by a fall or a knock, and was not your fatal wound."

"I have a feeling I know where that came from," Catherine said, remembering the blood she had found on the side of the computer monitor.

"This smaller wound was followed up by someone repeatedly smashing his skull. Now the weapon wasn't your conventional weapon. It shattered. I found fragments of what appear to wood in the wound cavity, I'll need you to get this to trace." He held up a dish of what looked to be wood chippings, "but your COD is multiple blunt force trauma which fractured the frontal lobe, causing massive haemorrhaging at the top of the skull to occur."

"Well if that's true we're potentially looking at a crime of opportunity."

"Not necessarily," Doc Robbins responded, "well I'm no CSI but there's no saying they couldn't have used his gun or knife or whatever they brought with them."

"Well, the office suggested a struggle and you're saying the victim defended himself. Maybe the killer had to improvise?"

"Maybe so," Doc Robbins chuckled, "but I think that is something you should be talking to your sidekick about."

"Sorry Doc, I'll let you go back to chopping bodies up," Catherine joked making her way towards the exit of the morgue, "oh and just to warn ya, you've got another on the way."

"I look forward to it," he replied sarcastically without looking up from his notebook, "you have a good day."

Catherine left the morgue, ditching her scrubs in the cloakroom and making her way up to Trace, with the wood chippings in hand. She had a vague inkling she may have already encountered the murder weapon but she couldn't always rely on their judgement. She saw David walking towards her; he was wheeling in Nick's body dump for autopsy.

Just as they crossed paths, David lifted the sheet off the body, exposing the mutilated corpse beneath it, "someone started my job without me," he chuckled to Catherine.

"Ooh, tasty," she joked back to him, "Doc's looking forward to it I can tell you that."

"Well I hope he's not got anything planned later, I've got another one to pick up in Henderson."

"Busy morning," Catherine replied, David simply nodded at her and carried on walking. She paused for a moment, trying to remember where she was heading to, muttering herself, "God, I love this job."

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><p>Tears were falling from her emerald green eyes as the woman sat weeping across the desk from him. She was an attractive woman although she was obviously trying to hide her features during her time of grief. This had always been his least favourite part of the job; Jim Brass was not widely recognised for his compassion and abilities as a shrink. He passed a box of tissues to the bereaving widow of Roland Herriot, adding softly, "just take your time, there's no rush."<p>

Samantha Herriot quietly took a tissue and dabbed her eyes with them, sniffling slightly she managed to regain some of her composure, "okay," she sniffed.

"When was the last time you spoke to your husband?" Brass asked calmly.

"Y-yesterday morning, just before he left for work," she discarded the tissue and pulled another one out of the box, "But he called me last night, saying he was going to be staying late again."

"What time did you receive this phone call?"

Samantha paused in thought for a moment before replying, "it was, it was around ten thirty, so I went to bed, thinking that he'd be lying next to me when I woke up this morning."

"Okay then," Brass responding, jotting what she had said into his notepad, "and you didn't notice anything strange about this? Your husband wasn't being agitated or nervous at all?"

"I didn't th-think anything of it really, he's been staying late a lot recently, and he's needed to sort out some issues w-with the restaurant. We had a couple of lawsuits last year following a small outbreak of food poisoning in the restaurant; he says he still keeps getting death threats from them. You don't suppose any of those people had some involvement do you?"

"They might well do, we'll be looking into them. Is there anyone else who had something against your husband?"

"Urrm, well there was some rivalry with the owners of the nearby restaurants and bars but not enough to want him dead."

"You'd be surprised at the lengths people go to, to get someone out the way." Samantha gave him a look of horror, and in those eyes Brass could see the joyous spirit that Samantha Herriot once had diminishing away in just a matter of moments. He never contemplated really just how a few little words or actions could flip someone's life upside-down.

"Okay Mrs Herriot, that's all I have to ask for the time being," he handed her a card, "if you've got any questions, feel free to give me a call. We'll keep you updated as best we can."

She took the card and thanked him quietly, collecting her stuff to leave Brass' office, but before she left she turned back and asked him quietly, "can, can I see him?"

Brass hesitated slightly, he firmly agreed with the coroner in thinking that nobody should say goodbye in an autopsy room, but the look on Samantha Herriot's face and her breakdown when he had gone to bring her the bad news said it all.

"Akers, would you take her down to the morgue please," he said reluctantly.

Akers nodded and escorted the woman out of Brass' office. Brass heaved a heavy sigh and sat back in his chair staring at the mountain of paperwork which had accumulated on his desk. He noted the paper at the top had been designated a priority; he knew also that whatever it said, would require a large dosage of coffee beforehand; or possibly a nice, cool beer.

* * *

><p>AN: That is the end of Part 1 of the story, the second part will be up sometime tomorrow. Feel free to tell me what you thought of it and I hope you enjoyed the story and stay tuned for the rest of it! :)


	2. Part 2 of 4

Officer Marlowe pulled up to the scene, coming to a sharp halt at the end of the driveway, stirring Sara from her doze. She'd decided to take advantage of the half hour journey across town to the house in Henderson, it had been almost eighteen hours since she had last slept and she realised that she'd have to skip breakfast as well. Nick was right, she was sick at having to pull a double every other night, especially seeing as Days have had a relatively quiet week, why couldn't they have got the scene.

'Oh well,' she thought to herself, 'the page mentioned it was a suspected suicide.' She hoped that if it was a suicide then maybe she'd be able to make an earlier bid for freedom. "Well that was a blessing in disguise."

"What was that?" The look which Officer Marlowe gave her suggested that she had been muttering her thoughts aloud again.

"Oh, it's nothing," she got out of the car and collected her case, thanking Officer Marlowe for the ride over. She quickly glanced at the house she was about to literally tear apart; it was the standard two-story house commonly found across Clark County, small, yet homely. She herself could see herself living here whilst Grissom was away in Peru, or Ecuador, or Guatemala or whatever exotic place he went to, instead of staying in his apartment in the middle of the city, alone, vulnerable.

Detective Vartann was waiting just inside the hallway, arms folded, alert and certainly far more awake than she was. She approached him asking where the body was to which he responded, "It's just in here," he led her to the bottom of the staircase and pointed upwards. "The victim's name is Melissa Wilcrow, she lives alone and works as a saleswoman at Globotics, it's a computer manufacturer. She must get quite a decent salary from that."

A female, probably in her early thirties was suspended in the air; the only thing supporting her was the bed-sheets tied around her neck which had been attached to the railing on the floor above. The woman's blonde hair had fallen forwards, obscuring her face and she was wearing nothing but a nightgown, a pair of slippers lay on the floor beneath her feet. Perhaps the most disturbing part was the fact that the body was still swinging left and right slowly, just a couple of centimetres, but enough to be noticeable.

"Who found the body?" Sara asked.

"The body was found by her friend, Andrea, she's gone downtown to give her statement. Apparently they were going out for a girly night out yesterday evening, she wasn't answering her calls, so she came round and that's when she found the body."

"How did she get in?"

"She has a spare key," Vartann replied and put on a mocking voice, "cos she's her BFF."

Sara smiled briefly but soon became transfixed by the body of Melissa Wilcrow, still swaying sinisterly. Left. Right. Left. Right. Left...

"Sara, are you alright?" Vartann asked her, sensing that she looked troubled at what she was seeing. "You don't look so good."

Sara snapped out of her trance, laughing to herself about how stupid she must have looked, "No, no I'm alright." She was lying; she wanted to be anywhere but here, "just reminds me of one of my first cases that I investigated when I came to Vegas."

"Okay, if you're sure."

'No, no, of course I'm not sure, I don't want to be here' her thoughts screamed to her but thankfully these ones remained inside her head. Sara walked up the stairs with her kit; she began taking some photographs of the scene. Same old photos. Same old crime scene. Same old dead bodies. She found several finger prints at the top of the railing, the pattern suggesting that someone had held on to it for support, possibly before a fall?

"Looks like she was having a few financial problems," Vartann called up the stairs, "she has piles of bills accumulating. Electric bill, final warning. Heating bill, final warning. Doctor's fees, final warning."

"Definitely motives for suicide," Sara called back, she wandered into the bedroom of the victim. She noted it had been left in pristine condition: the bed had been made, the trash had been emptied, and the floor had been vacuumed. She remembered a conversation she had had with Greg a few years earlier; about how she would always make sure she left her apartment spotless every time she left it.

There was just one thing out of place in the bedroom, a piece of paper situated on the bedside table. Sara picked it up and read:

_I hear the wind a blow,_

_I hear the grass a grow,_

_And all that I know, I know,_

_But I will not speak, I will run away._

Sara bagged it, took it downstairs where she saw the coroners retrieving the body. It appeared that the day shift crew had come for it, so why on earth was she still up working her butt off? She felt a presence come up behind her and Vartann's voice spoke over her shoulder, "what have you got there?" Pointing at the note encased in the evidence bag.

She simply replied, "William Butler Yeats."

* * *

><p>Nick found it strangely unusual to see the body of Joseph Huyt looking so normal, well, normal apart from the fact it had been stitched together again. As he was waiting for Doc Robbins to return from an errand, he thought about how awful it must be to be confined to the dark, depressing morgue, spending the entire day simply taking apart dead bodies with only Super-Dave for company. Then there was the smell too, that alone was enough to put Nick off even spending ten minutes in the place.<p>

"I suppose you're here to find out what killed Mr Huyt," Doc Robbins walked through the door, notes being held in one hand whilst the other grasped both his cane and a banana. Nick wondered how he could eat so soon after disembowelling a corpse.

"Yes-iree," Nick responded in a sing-song like manner.

"Well I can tell you now, death was neither pretty nor swift," Doc Robbins opened the file and pinned various x-ray photos on the wall. "Well, someone obviously had it in for this guy, the x-rays show that your victim sustained multiple fractures of the ribs, it looks like someone tried to hack through them with a knife or a small blade."

"But, we only appear to have one incision..."

"I've got more for you. I noticed that the fractures were the same colour as the bone surrounding it, also I found that the fracture lines radiate away from the main break, which suggests these injuries were perimortem. Judging from the incision wounds in the bone, I determined it was a small blade, approximately five millimetres wide. I analysed the skin around the incision, wound tract is also five millimetres."

"Whoa, whoa, hold on a minute," Nick was not liking where this was going, "so you reckon this guy was cut open alive?"

"I'm afraid it seems to be that way," Doc Robbins replied sombrely. Nick was stunned. He'd been a CSI for almost fourteen years now and this was looking to be one of his most gruesome cases yet. Doc Robbins continued to report his findings, ignoring Nick's flabbergasted expression, "the wound was very shallow, the incision was precise to only really break open the skin. I'd say you were looking for a retractable blade, something like a boxcutter."

"So what's the official COD," Nick asked uneasily, dreading the answer to the question.

"COD was exsanguinations. Although little comfort to your victim, death was made quicker by the victim going into shock leading to the shutdown several vital organs. I found hardly any blood in his system and from what I've heard there was very little blood at the scene, that's definitely not your crime scene."

"Okay thanks Doc, although remind me to make sure I stay clear of this place an hour before and after eating," he laughed.

"Nick, I'm disappointed," he exclaimed, "I thought you had a much stronger stomach."

"Yeah, well you only have to remember my very first autopsy to know I can get a little queezy!"

"Oh yes," Doc recounted, "that required a lot of bleach. Oh and before you go, just one more thing, whilst David was prepping the body, he found adhesive residue on the victim's wrists and ankles."

"So that would say he was restrained, probably by some sort of duct tape. Well we found none at the scene, guess I best get ready for some dumpster diving."

Doc Robbins laughed at this, and placed the body of the Joseph Huyt into one of the available vaults, "you have fun doing that. I best be off, Mrs Robbins has invited her sister round for lunch, and although I'd rather be here, I'm not in the mood to face her wrath."

"I thought you still had to do an autopsy on Sara's vic?" Nick asked.

"David's going to be doing it, and I've maxed out on overtime this month and even if I had real legs I don't think I could work any longer. Enjoy your dumpster diving."

"Thanks," Nick chuckled, "enjoy your lunch."

* * *

><p>Catherine walked down the corridors of the crime lab in search for Greg. Brass had just told her that the widow was letting them have a look around the house and she wanted to get there before perhaps someone else could. Just as she walked past Trace, she caught something out of the corner of her eye. She stepped backwards to see Hodges in the lab flailing his arms around to attract her attention. Catherine rolled her eyes and stepped into the lab to see what he wanted.<p>

"What happened to paging?" She asked.

"Paging is time consuming," Hodges replied flatly, "anyway, I analysed the trace found in the victim's head wound."

"Wow, that was quick," Catherine remarked, genuinely impressed.

"Well, that's the results you can expect from Nevada's best Trace technician. Your sample came back a mixture of a variety of materials, some powdered pigment, egg yolk, toluene and extracts of linden."

Catherine felt the information going in one ear and out the other; she raised her eyebrows at Hodges, which he knew meant he ought to elaborate.

"Well the powdered pigment and egg yolk are both substances found in tempera, or as it's more commonly known, poster paint. Toluene is a chemical prominent in lacquer, a type of varnish or glazing, so, my guess is that your murder weapon is some kind of ornament or decoration, specifically made from the linden tree."

Catherine tried to cast her mind back to the office, trying to recall anything of that description. Her mind blanked; maybe the crime scene photos could help her. "Thanks very much, Nevada's best Trace technician."

Hodges put on a really cheesy grin at the sound of her words, "does that mean I can get a raise?"

"No."

"Well, it was worth a try," Hodges told himself, watching Catherine leave the Trace lab, tossing her hair as she turned around the corner.

Catherine found Greg examining the victim's clothing in the layout room; loud rock music was blasting out of a stereo, which was also positioned on the table.

"Greg!" She shouted over the loud music, but she got his attention anyway as he switched the stereo off. "Find anything useful?"

"I found lots of blood on the victim's shirt," Greg said, "some of it could be the killers, I also got a handprint on his shirt, consisting of this white stuff, Hodges confirmed it to be flour, and I sent the prints to Mandy. Unfortunately, I got nothing from the trousers."

"Doc said the vic sustained a minor blow to the head and I found some blood on the side of the monitor, maybe he was pushed into it?"

"Could be."

"Okay good work, we're gonna have to go back to the scene, we found some trace in a head wound which Hodges identified as a wooden ornament of some sort, I reckon that's our murder weapon."

Greg's eyes suddenly lit up, he grabbed a file containing the crime scene photos on the opposite side of the table and started flicking through it furiously, "I reckon, that Roland Herriot, was killed with... a nesting doll." He instantaneously slammed his finger on the photo of the Russian dolls.

"We need to bring in those dolls," Catherine replied shuffling her papers on the table, "you go back to the crime scene, bring back the nesting dolls, actually no, bring back every piece of decoration. Oh and I want his computer too."

"No problem boss," he responded, adding cheekily, "and I suppose you're gonna make yourself a coffee, relax and put your feet up."

"If I could Greg, I would. I'm gonna have a snoop around the Herriot residence."

The two of them cleared away everything from the layout room and filed it away, heading for the locker room to get ready to head back into the field. Catherine heard a phone beeping, she checked to see it was hers, but hearing the voice behind her say "Sanders" confirmed it was not hers.

She slyly listened in on his phone conversation, although she wasn't expecting it to be particularly interesting. "Oh, hi mom... yes I'm doing alright... no I'm still at work, we've had a busy shift... yeah... oh..." It was at this point Catherine noticed that the tone of the conversation had changed, Greg had began talking slower, and the buzz of energy he usually had surrounding his presence was diminishing, she watched as the smile began to fade from his face and his eyes, usually bright with life had become shadows. "... yeah... okay... I'll try and get down as soon as I can... okay... love you."

He snapped the phone shut and let out a big sigh, stood up from the bench and wiped away his eyes, "Greg," Catherine stood beside him, "are you alright?"

"Yeah," he said wearily, "It's nothing, I'm fine." It was quite clear that he wasn't.

"Greg," she placed her hand gently on his back, "talk to me."

He let out another big sigh; Catherine could see his eyes were beginning to well up, "that was my mom calling," he said quietly, "yeah, she phoned to tell me that Papa Olaf died during the night."

"Oh Greg, I'm so sorry," she felt her stomach twang with sadness for her friend, pulling into an embrace. She felt him return the embrace, albeit with much less enthusiasm. "Take the rest of the day off Greg, I insist."

"No, no it's fine," he replied sadly, "I-I think I'll need a couple of days off, mom wants me to come back to LA for the funeral."

"Take the rest of the week off then."

"No, no, I need to be here for y..."

"Your family needs you at the moment more than we do," Catherine interrupted him, giving him a smile, "I'll call Ray and get him to come in, you should go."

Greg backed away from their hug, "I can't do that to Ray. He needs the time off."

"You need it too Greg," Catherine gave him a comforting smile, "you've accumulated over twenty vacation days this year, call me when you're coming back in."

Greg returned a small smile, although it was one which Catherine would have missed had she blinked, "thanks Catherine."

The two exchanged another quick hug and then Catherine left for the Herriot household. As she sat in her car she began thinking various thoughts. She never realised that Greg's Papa Olaf had actually still been alive at this point, she also felt a twinge of guilt as she realised she was going to have to get Ray to come in on his day off, and then there was a final thought, how she never had contemplated really, just how a few little words or actions could flip someone's life upside-down.

Brushing those thoughts aside, she got her phone out and dialled in a number, she let the phone ring for a moment and heard the person on the other side pick up, "Hey, it's Catherine..."

* * *

><p>"Right David, tell me about Miss Wilcrow," Sara said, smiling sweetly at David who was nervously hovering around the body, having trouble finding words.<p>

"Yes, errm, your victim's COD was the transection of the spinal cord and errm, traumatic spondylolysis of the C2 vertebrae," David looked up and returned Sara's smile which seemed highly out of place given the subject matter.

"So that's consistent with say, jumping off the second floor with a knot of bedsheets round your kneck?"

"That would be correct. She died instantly. I also found numerous scars on her wrists; it looks like she tried slitting them."

He held up the right wrist for Sara to see and there were visible healing scars at the wrist, perpendicular to the direction of the arm. "Well that supports a suicide theory."

"Or maybe self-mutilation," David quipped, "if she wanted to kill herself that way she should have slit them vertically along the main vein, slitting it horizontally just causes the blood to clot before you..."

"David," Sara interrupted, "why are you telling me this?"

"I thought it was relevant?" he said slowly, Sara shook her head at him, "well apart from the neck fracture, she was pretty healthy on the inside, despite her diet consisting of fizzy drinks and LuckyGoChicken."

"Did you get any trace, DNA, anything else from the body at all?"

"Nope, nothing at all."

"Okay, thanks David," she left the morgue and took a deep breath of fresh air, a necessity for her whenever she would have to go down there. After ditching her scrubs she wondered what was left to do, just a few prints to identify, oh and the bedsheets as well and hope that the case is closed as a suicide. Her stomach suddenly made a large growl and it was then that Sara realised she hadn't eaten for over ten hours, suddenly those procedures she originally planned to do had found themselves at the bottom of her priorities.

* * *

><p>The morning dumpster diving had been unsuccessful, Nick knew that the duct tape was highly unlikely to be found and in hindsight, it seemed foolish even trying to look for it. Now he smelt awful which didn't help Nick's already foul mood.<p>

"Hey Nick," he heard a voice as he was making his way over to the locker room showers, it belonged to Detective Vega, "I managed to get hold of the victim's girlfriend in Victorville, she reported him missing today after he went out for a morning run yesterday and never came back."

"So he was taken, or killed in Victorville, dumped in Vegas?" Nick asked, "we did find him in sports attire, I reckon he musta been abducted on his run."

"Well the girlfriend is making her way down here to collect the body, I'll see if I can get any more from her."

"Thanks Vega," the two parted ways. The smell was worse than he expected, noticing many colleagues' expressions change to looks of disgust as he walked past. He was just about to enter the locker room when he was intercepted by Hodges.

"Stokes!" He exclaimed, "I got the results from the blood drops you collected from the scene, not a match to the victim, but, I managed to get a hit in CODIS, a Mr Geoffrey Nugent, who happens to be from Victorville."

He passed the rap sheet over to Nick who scanned down the list of offenses, "drug possession, illegal dumping, no signs of violent behaviour and trust me, this murder was a messy job."

"But his blood was at the scene..."

"But the evidence is circumstantial, I'm gonna need more if I'm gonna bring him in."

"Fine! Fine!" Hodges said in an overly-dramatic fashion, "but don't expect me to help you when you come crawling back to me begging for me to process some blood, or some trace or some semen." He walked out of the room but then turned back and adding in a childish manner, "oh and by the way, you smell."

Nick rolled his eyes as he watched Hodges leave him in peace, Nick was not in the mood for his annoying remarks and his kiss-ass comments this morning. He sniffed under his armpit realising that Hodges was right, he really stank. He was about to make his way over to the showers when he was interrupted yet again by his pager. Nick growled with frustration as he read it, it was from Archie, requesting Nick to join him in the AV lab.

"I hope this is important Archie," Nick said walking into the AV lab, "I was just about to step into the shower," he added chuckling.

"I think you'll find it's – whoa!" Archie recoiled as Nick stepped closer, "you do smell bad, I better make this quick then."

"Alright, what have we got," Nick asked as Archie began clicking away at a piece of footage from what looked to be a traffic camera outside the scene.

"The shop owner claims the body wasn't there when she closed up shop at eleven, now you can't see the actual parking lot but you can see where cars can turn into it," he indicated to a car which was leaving the parking area, "so I checked the footage between eleven pm and seven am this morning and the only other car that turned into it was... this one." He paused the footage and focused on a silver Honda Civic which was indeed, turning into the parking lot.

"That was at two thirty-four am," Nick read off the timestamp.

"Yep, and they're seen leaving seven minutes later," Archie fast-forwarded the footage to two forty-one which showed the Civic leaving.

"Plenty of time to dump a body."

"Yep, I managed to catch the same guy at a red light two blocks down and ran his plates. Came back to a Mr Geoffrey Nugent..."

"Excellent work Archie," Nick's eyes lit up, "I gotta go", he tapped the lab rat on the shoulder and immediately took out his phone and dialled a number, "Hey, Vega... yeah, I've got a person of interest for you..."

* * *

><p>AN: Hope you enjoyed Part 2 of the story, Part 3 should be up sometime tomorrow. Please feel free to review and give me your feedback! Thanks for reading! :)


	3. Part 3 of 4

Light seeped through the blinds as Ray Langston got himself ready for work. Catherine had mentioned fieldwork so he decided that the vest would be useful to wear today. He noticed that his head was no longer spinning; he must have had a good night sleep. 'That's a first' he thought to himself as he tied up his shoelaces. 'You know, I could get used to getting up at this time of day.'

He wandered into the bathroom and quickly splashed his face with cold water, although he was certainly feeling better than yesterday, he wasn't fully awake and he could still feel a dull throb emitting from the back of his head. He popped a couple of aspirins and washed them down with a cool glass of water.

He had gotten nothing in the mail that morning, also a first; it was nice to not be receiving various spam, bank statements, bills and kidney beans for a change. A quick glance of his watch showed that it was now half past ten and he silently groaned as he remembered he had another shift starting in just over thirteen hours still. He didn't feel like going into work today, but given the circumstances, he felt it was necessary to, and he knew that Greg would have done the same had it been him.

Thankfully, the scene he was heading for was not far from his house or the crime lab, so it was only going to be a short drive. He tuned in to his favourite radio station and letting the lyrics of B.B. King's version of '_Please Send Me Someone to Love_' provide some escape from the fact he was on his way to a murder investigation. He let the music take him somewhere else, and to him it was a high which couldn't be beaten.

A loud blast of the horn of the car behind brought Ray back down to earth, realising the light was now green, he saw the occupant of the car behind cursing and waving his arms around in frustration and Ray laughed at how easy it could be to tick a person off.

Ray was surprised to discover how pristine the crime scene had become, he'd had a glance at the crime scene photos and it had looked like someone had conjured up a tornado in Roland Herriot's office, however it appeared that Hazmat had already been through and done their job. Ray saw that the items that Catherine had asked to be retrieved were already bagged and waiting outside the office to be taken to the car. There were quite a few cadets around the scene he noticed as well, all of them were happy to move the items into Ray's car to be taken to the lab.

After about ten minutes of taking stuff back and forth, the only item left to take was the computer, which still resided in the office. As Ray walked back into the office he spotted something which Catherine didn't appear to have mentioned in her report. He stood peering at the one thing which appeared out of place, making his surroundings invisible to him. "Is something wrong Dr Langston?" A high pitched voice suddenly spoke which brought Ray out of a second trance. The voice belonged to one of the cadets, a skinny man who looked like he was fresh from high school.

"What's your name, cadet?" Ray asked in his usual composed tone.

"Urrm... Parsons, Luke Parsons," the cadet replied hesitantly.

"Well Luke, what can you tell me about the chain on the door," Langston pointed to the chain which Roland Herriot used to privatise his office.

"Urrm... it's unlocked and still attached to the door?"

"Okay, so what does that suggest?"

Luke thought hard for a moment before replying, "urrm... that it wasn't forced open... maybe the victim knew his killer."

"You know what Luke," Langston smiled at the cadet, "I was thinking exactly the same."

* * *

><p>"Mr Nugent, do you know who this man is?" Vega placed the autopsy photo of Joseph Huyt on the table in front of Geoffrey Nugent.<p>

"Never seen him before in my life, why, should I know him?" he responded, sitting back in the chair and folding his arms. The man was in his early fifties, he donned a red cap which complimented with his red leather jacket and jogging bottoms. Even from across the table, Nick could smell the cigarettes and the booze. It appeared that the man hadn't showered for quite some time, nor was he clean shaven. Nick had a thought that even if he hadn't showered after his dumpster dive, no one would raise an eyebrow standing next to this guy.

"Well he's dead, murdered actually" Nick told Nugent, "and we found your blood at the scene of the crime."

"Well, I certainly didn't kill him," Nugent retorted, "heck I didn't even know the guy."

"Well see here's the thing," Nick leaned over the desk, trying hard not to inhale too much of Nugent's bad breath, he said softly, "we reckon this guy was nabbed in Victorville, killed and dumped in Vegas. It just so happens to be coincidental that you and he are from the same place."

"I told you I didn't kill him," Nugent said defiantly.

"Then care to explain what you were doing outside Penny's Plumbing shop at two thirty this morning," Vega said in an intimidating tone to which Nugent shrugged his shoulders. Vega slammed another photo on the table, this one showing Nugent's car turning into the parking lot where the body was found, "you see, we reckon this guy was dumped there between eleven last night and seven this morning, and your car was the only to enter and exit the parking lot between so I'll say again, explain what you were doing outside Penny's Plumbing shop this morning!"

"Alright, alright, I needed a piss!" Nugent gave in, albeit in a desperate manner.

"So how did your blood get there?"

"Yeah, well some hobo came up to me as I was peeing and started screaming at me for pissing in his territory, and then the bastard stabbed me with somethin," Nugent spoke quickly and angrily rolled up his sleeve revealing two small puncture wounds on his right arm.

"Do you expect us to believe that?" Vega said flatly.

"Actually Sara said she found urine by one of the dumpsters," Nick pointed out. "Okay Mr Nugent, was there a body around whilst you were there?"

"No, no there wasn't!" Nugent exclaimed loudly, "and even if there was I woulda called you guys."

"Okay then," Vega gave in to the man's story, "what did the homeless guy look like?"

"Well," Nugent began explaining slowly, "he was old... and he had messy grey hair... and ragged clothes."

Nick sighed and put his head in his hands, Vega commenting, "well this is gonna take a while."

* * *

><p>Catherine walked into the layout room, carrying a large box full of bagged items, with a strenuous look on her face. "Well, Grissom collects bugs," she slammed the box on the table and paused for a moment to catch her breath, "Nick collects some nature watch magazine, Doc collects photos of dead celebrities and Greg collects errm... everything." She lifted out one of the bagged items and put it down on the table, "and Roland Herriot collects Russian nesting dolls... or a matryoshka doll as Mrs Herriot kept insisting."<p>

Ray looked up from the books he was dusting for prints with and smiled, "and a good morning to you too Catherine."

"I am so sorry I had to call you in today..." Catherine began but Ray held up his hand to stop her.

"It's okay Cath, I understand. I got some prints off the nesting doll and the books, but I didn't find any blood on them," Ray took one of the books in his right hand, gripping it on the spine, "the prints suggested that the books were pulled off the shelf like this, and then thrown on the floor. Someone had quite a tantrum."

"Okay good, I think we're getting somewhere, we know that there was a struggle and there was physical violence."

"We can also assume that the victim was close to his killer," Ray pointed out, "the chain on the door was still intact which suggested it wasn't a forced entry."

Mandy came into the room, holding up various sheets of paper and results, she looked exhausted but that was not surprising given her workload, "Okay, I got some hits from your prints and blood. The prints on the nesting doll came back to both the victim and one other person. That same person's prints were also found on your books and were a match to the flour hand print found on the victim's shirt."

"Any hits?" Catherine asked.

"Yes, a Mr Alex Voorhees, twenty-one years old, student at WLVU, also a part-time chef at The Herriot Steakhouse."

She handed a file to Catherine who read his rap sheet, "one count of violence, possible disgruntled employee?"

"What about the blood?" Ray asked, as he got to work with printing the nesting dolls found at the Herriot residence.

"Okay I got two donors from your bloodstains, your victim and Alex Voorhees," Mandy read, "oh but the skin which Doc Robbins found under his fingernails is not a match to Alex Voorhees and it's still running through CODIS."

"So maybe there were two assailants," Ray contemplated.

"Well we got a lead on this Voorhees guide; maybe we can cut him a deal to rat his friend out. I'll call Brass to pick him up," Catherine said. "Thanks Mandy."

"Oh Catherine, one more thing," Mandy piped up, "when's Wendy's DNA replacement coming? It's exhausting enough working prints all day but me and Hodges can't keep juggling DNA work on top of things, and I am not touching any more semen again and I'm soooo tire..." she broke out into a yawn emphasising her point.

"Don't worry, I think the Undersheriff mentioned the new DNA tech would be arriving on Thursday, but you know what the situation with the lab is at the moment."

"Yeah I do," Mandy said acceptingly, "it's just putting so much strain on our work."

"I know, we're feeling the same out in the field. Go and have a break, you deserve it."

* * *

><p>"Why am I here?" Alex Voorhees demanded, staring across the table at Brass, who gave him a grim smile. From his body language, Brass could tell that the college student seemed surprised at being brought in. Brass noticed he was a muscular kid, could inflict plenty of damage to someone, you would definitely want him on your side in a bar fight. Brass also spotted various bruises and cuts which riddled the young guy's face; he'd been fighting recently, probably Roland Herriot it seemed.<p>

"Well Mr Voorhees, I presume you know Roland Herriot," Brass told the guy.

"Well yeah," Voorhees replied, as if it was the most obvious statement in the world, "he's m – sorry, he _was_ my manager. This isn't about that stupid dol..."

"Whoa, whoa, hold your horse; did you just say he _was_ your manager?"

"Yep," Voorhees this time replied bitterly, "until he fired me less than twenty-four hours ago."

"Hmm... that sounds like motive to me," Brass mumbled to himself, jotting a few things down on his notepad.

"Motive?"

"Oh yeah," Brass said sarcastically, tossing over the photo of Roland Herriot's autopsy mug shot "your boss is dead."

"What?" Voorhees looked generally surprised and in disbelief, "so you think I killed him?"

"Well, if you look at it from our point of view, you've got motive and we also found your prints on various items in Herriot's office, your handprints and your blood on his shirt. I guess you didn't take the news too well, I mean your past record's going against you a bit, says you're always up for a bit of a scrap," Brass added, mockingly punching the air.

"No, no I can explain, there's been some mistake."

"Well you better have a good explanation; I'm not one to make mistakes."

"Okay okay, I'll tell you what happened. I have this competition with the guys at the steakhouse, we do these dares and bet on each other to see who can earn the most cash from it. Yeah, well the guys bet me two-hundred bucks if I stole one of the nesting dolls from his office."

"Let me guess, you were caught."

"Yeah, I was caught _returning_ the doll. I mean, Roland was a fair employer, he'd pay us well above minimum wage, we got decent vacations and not too stressful hours, and he was a funny guy to be around, but touch his stupid doll and he flies off the handle. I mean first he fired me and then he gave me these!" He pointed at the bruises that decorated his face.

"So you fought back?" Brass asked to which Voorhees nodded, "and then you beat him to death with the doll."

"No, it wasn't like that at all! He was the aggressive one, so I pushed him and he bashed his head on the computer. I was angry, I threw some of his books and papers on the floor, and left. The guy was still alive when I left him."

"Okay then," Brass continued to write notes down, "what time was this?"

"Oh errm, about, ten, ten-thirty last night?"

"Can you explain your whereabouts between midnight and two am?"

"Yeah, I was having a few drinks, at the Golden Sapphire, ask the barman, errm, George I think his name was. Can I go now?"

Brass sighed and contemplated for a moment before agreeing, "yes, you're free to go, but don't go far."

* * *

><p>The computer beeped at Sara, stirring her from her slumber. Sara groggily lifted her head up from her arms to see what CODIS had got a hit on. She looked at her watch, one o'clock, usually she'd be in bed by now but of course her career was having none of it. She looked at the computer screen again; the prints on the bed sheet and the railings had come back to Melissa Wilcrow. She had committed suicide.<p>

To her surprise, Sara seemed unsatisfied by the conclusion. Why had Melissa Wilcrow, a woman of only thirty, with a high paying job, a nice house and a generally decent standard of living jumped off that balcony. She remembered that Grissom had told her once that 'it was up to them to find out how it happened, not why' but then she remembered the times when he himself, had taken a further interest into his most baffling cases.

As she was delving into her thoughts, Vartann walked in carrying various sheets of paper, "Hey Sara," he said, but upon looking at her he paused for a moment and asked, "are you sure you're alright?"

"No, no," Sara lied again, "I'm fine, what have you got for me?"

"I looked into Melissa Wilcrow's financial status, she got into trouble a few months ago paying off her mortgages and so she took out a loan in January. Take a look at how much she's paying back."

Vartann handed the sheet of paper to her and Sara's eyes scanned down the page, they widened with surprised having read what the victim owed, "whoa! That's almost twenty percent, a _week_. Why would she go to a loanshark?"

"Maybe she got rejected by other companies? Or she had no idea, anyway she's been receiving quite a few threats in the mail, here's one which says, "Pay up, or pay with your life bitch.""

"I guess the stress got to her and when it comes to crunch time she..." Sara thought back to the note that was left on the bedside table, "runs away."

"Yes, well lucky for us, Mr Loanshark is not too bright. It appears he likes to seal his letters with a kiss," he handed her the envelope addressed to Melissa Wilcrow.

"Great, I'll see if I can get any DNA off it," she smiled and left to go and find Hodges.

A trail of red hair swept past the window which caught Vartann's eye, he remembered that there was something he'd been meaning to ask for a while, and he followed the trail of red hair across the lab into Catherine's office. He managed to catch up with her before she could sit behind her desk.

"Hey," he whispered into her ear and kissed her gently on her neck. Although she didn't say anything at first, she smiled and turned around to return the favour face and they shared another tender kiss.

"Hello stranger," she smiled and sat down behind her desk.

"Have you spoken to Sara recently?" Vartann asked.

"Not since the start of shift," Catherine answered as she began organising her drawers, "why what's up with her?"

"I don't know she seems sort of... deflated. Even when she was processing the scene she was acting rather unresponsive."

Catherine sighed and rubbed her eyes, "we're all like that, the city's got us pulling doubles every other day and the department can't afford to hire more CSIs, heck we haven't even replaced Wendy yet and she's been gone nine months. Then I have Ray having to take time off because of his condition, Greg's just gone down to LA to bury his grandfather and I really can't afford to be losing any more members of the team. We're _all_ feeling the strain. Trust me, when was the last time we've seen each other outside of work." She let out a growl of frustration.

"I was actually gonna ask if you, if you'd like to go out for dinner sometime," Catherine raised an eyebrow prompting Vartann to add, "maybe not today, tomorrow if you're around, or Sunday?"

Catherine contemplated for a moment before saying regretfully, "I, I can't, sorry Lou but given the situation the department's in at the moment, I don't want to make any promises I can't keep. I'm really sorry."

Vartann felt his stomach plummet, with disappointment and he didn't do a good job hiding it as evidenced by the increased look of concern etched on Catherine's face. "Okay, if you err, change your mind, give me a call." He held up his hand to his ear like a phone, smiled and left the room, leaving Catherine in a state of anxiety and regret.

Over the next half hour, she pondered over whether she made the right decision, but that was not the only problem she had. She felt she ought to have a word with Sara about what Vartann had said but at the same time she had a severely understaffed team working sixteen hours at least thrice a week, she herself hadn't taken a day off in what seemed like, a month.

Her thoughts were interrupted by the chirping of her cell phone. She was instantly snapped back into the reality that they were still on a case and promptly answered it.

Before she even had time to confirm she had answered, the caller began conversing, "Catherine, it's Ray, your chef's alibi checked out but I think we've got a new lead."

"Tell me more Ray."

"DNA from the fingernails _finally_ got a hit in CODIS, came back to someone called Lawrence McKinley who happens to own a large share in the Herriot Steakhouse."

"I'm gonna need more than that for a warrant."

"Then I'll give you more. Archie had a look at Roland Herriot's computer files, he's been receiving quite a few instant messages, well, I should say death threats from one particular person. Archie tried to source an origin of these messages, and we managed to track it to our very own Lawrence McKinley."

"Good work Ray, I'll give Brass a call to go and pick this guy up."

* * *

><p>"Lawrence McKinley, LVPD, open up," Brass knocked three times on McKinley's elaborate oak door. There was no reply. "Lawrence McKinley, LVPD, open up," Brass repeated again. Likewise, there was no answer from the house. "Brace yourselves," Brass told Catherine and the uni who were standing behind him, guns at the ready. With a little effort and precision Brass kicked the door in and entered the house muttering to himself, "I've still got it in me."<p>

Catherine followed in close pursuit; "Clear" she said having checked the first living room they encountered. Subsequent rooms on the ground floor had proven to be clear also, she had a bad feeling that someone might have got to their guy before she had.

Then she caught a small movement out of the corner of her eye and followed it into the kitchen area, "Freeze!" she shouted to a figure who was heading for the back door. The figure froze instantly, "keep your hands where I can see them," the man, who must have been in his fifties or so obliged, albeit with a sly grin on his face.

A uni had arrived in the kitchen and had cuffed Lawrence McKinley who continued to brandish his sinister grin as he was led away, "you're wasting your time, lady. You've got nothing."

"Oh really," Catherine spoke sarcastically as she picked up the broken and blood-stained nesting doll which sat on the kitchen worktop. She put it back down quickly, realising she wasn't wearing her latex gloves. She walked outside the house and saw Lawrence McKinley being driven away in one of the police cars. As the police car left, a second vehicle, a Denali pulled up to the kerb. A familiar brunette stepped out the car and walked up towards Catherine.

"What are you doing with my guy?" Sara demanded.

Catherine raised an eyebrow, both surprised and perplexed she asked warily, "_your_ guy?"

* * *

><p>AN: I'd just like to say first, fluff is not part of my expertise, so sorry it's a little flat! The fourth and final part of the story will be up sometime tomorrow. Feel free to review and tell me what you think. Thanks for reading!


	4. Part 4 of 4

The back alleys of Industrial Road were far from Nick's favourite place to search, even in the daylight and with an escort consisting of two unis and Detective Vega. Whilst they still had a suspect in custody, there was little they could do to connect him to the victim other than the fact they were from the same town, and his reason for being at Penny's Plumbing shop appeared to be supported by the urine and gravitational blood drops they had found at the scene.

"I think that looks like our guy over there," Vega pointed to a homeless man sporting a greasy beard and dressed in tatty jeans, sandals and a mouldy khaki jacket which Geoffrey Nugent had described in the interrogation room. The man was sat on a blanket, eating from what looked like a tin of discarded dog food. The two of them walked over to the man, "excuse us, I'm Detective Vega from homicide and this is Nick Stokes from the crime lab, we just want to ask you a few questions."

The man looked at them warily, letting out a grunt which assumingly meant 'okay'. Nick handed him a photo of Joseph Huyt and asked the man, "Have you seen this man before?"

The homeless man shook his head muttering, "no, no I 'aven't."

"Okay then," Nick replied, this time handing him a picture of Geoffrey Nugent, "how about this guy?"

The homeless man studied the photo intently, he muttered some gibberish to himself before nodding and saying gruffly, "Yer, yer he was invadin' my territory! So I scared 'em off, got 'em with my fork."

"With all due respect, it's not your territory to claim," Detective Vega pointed out.

The homeless man ignored Vega's comment and continued to ramble on about his land and Geoffrey Nugent's inconsiderate attitude towards his territory. Nick attempted to veer the conversation away, "did you see a body near where you fought off Geoffrey Nugent, the invader?"

The man thought hard for this question before shaking his head and continuing to ramble on about his encounter earlier that evening.

"Okay okay," Nick intervened, starting to get impatient, "did you see anyone carrying a body, or anything which resembled one through here last night?"

"No, no, no!" The homeless man had become increasingly frustrated, "I didn' see nothin', no bodies, no murder, no nothin'!"

"Calm down please..."

"I'll calm down once you get yerself off my territory!" He began yelling, pulling out the fork he had used to ward off Geoffrey Nugent. Nick's heart suddenly jumped and he and Vega rapidly brandished their own weapons.

"Drop the weapon!" Vega yelled at the man, who ignored his demands and lunged at the detective. Vega skilfully side-stepped the hobo and quickly brought him down with a tackle. "Alright, I'm bringing you in for attempting to assault a police officer," he panted as the homeless man struggled like a fish out of water as Vega placed the cuffs around the man's wrists. Vega pulled the man up and handed him over to the unis who escorted him to the parking lot.

The homeless man began cackling, shouting over to Nick and Detective Vega, "I'm gonna be eatin' proper food tonigh' yeah!"

"Nice work," Nick commented to Vega, as they watched the man being taken out of sight, "unfortunately I think that eliminates our only suspect as the perp."

"You think a statement by some crazy hobo is gonna stand up as an alibi in court?" Vega asked.

"Well we got the evidence which supports the story as well," Nick said as they both walked back to their cars. "Say, if the traffic cams didn't pick up the perp's car entering the parking lot, and our homeless friend didn't see anyone bringing the body in, that must mean that whoever dumped the body must have arrived on foot from... that direction." He pointed towards the railroad tracks which ran parallel to Industrial Road.

"Or, the homeless guy could be lying and he came from the opposite direction," Vega commented, "or the homeless guy did the deed himself, he could have carved up our DB for some dinner."

"No, Doc said our guy was cut up before he died," he looked at Vega who cringed. "If our guy had come from the main road, we'd have seen something on surveillance; he must have been brought round the back of the complex, but I don't see any treads or prints around here."

Nick looked around in desperation for some form of answer. It was clear that they were back to square one. No suspects. No murder weapon. No evidence to suggest anyone else. Vega's cell began to ring. He answered the phone and turned to Nick saying, "the girlfriend's come in from Victorville. We better get back to the lab."

Nick made one last look around the scene, not wanting to leave but accepting he'd eventually have to admit that this was one of those cases which would end up on the infamous 'ones who got away' wall.

* * *

><p>"Mr McKinley, I'm sure you're well aware that loansharking is illegal," Brass told the man seated next to him at the table.<p>

"Loan shark?" McKinley laughed at the accusation, "is that what we call a compassionate act of philanthropy nowadays?"

"That's funny," Sara commented, "I've never known philanthropists to be charging eighteen percent per week interest on their donations."

"You know, I think I prefer the red-headed chick," McKinley said snidely.

"Where is this going Captain Brass?" The attorney seated next to McKinley piped up. Brass passed a photo of Melissa Wilcrow.

"This woman's Melissa Wilcrow," Brass informed McKinley, "she took out one of your loans back in January to pay off her mortgage and you've been sending her some pretty nasty reminders." He handed over copies of the letters which McKinley had sent. "We found your DNA on the envelopes."

McKinley simply sighed and replied sardonically, "oh Melissa, if only you'd paid me back and not wasted your money on booze and glam then you wouldn't have ended up in this mess."

"Or perhaps if you provided a more realistic interest rate then maybe she'd have been able to," Sara snapped.

"Hey, what can I say?" McKinley held his hands out, "I'm a business, I promised her a loan, one she couldn't get from anywhere else and she promises to pay me back eventually. She was the one who couldn't keep her end of the deal."

"Now seeing as you don't have any evidence which puts my client at the scene of Melissa's death," the attorney spoke rising to his feet, "we'll be leaving."

"You're not going anywhere," Brass replied coldly, "this is just the starter; why not stick around for the main course." Brass nodded to the door and Catherine entered the room carrying the file for Roland Herriot's case in her hand. She indicated to the attorney to sit down.

"Hey baby," McKinley jeered, eyes lighting up with both delight and lust, "you miss me?"

"We can't convict you for the death of Melissa Wilcrow," Catherine said, brushing off his comments, "but we've got more than enough to bust you for the death of Roland Herriot." She slid over several photos which McKinley examined with intense scrutiny. "Your prints on the nesting doll used to kill Roland Herriot. Roland Herriot's blood on the broken nesting doll. Fragments from the skull of Roland Herriot matched the nesting doll you used to kill him. Your DNA underneath Roland Herriot's fingernails. Your IP address was tracked from the death threats you were sending Roland Herriot. I think we've got a very good case here don't you think?"

"I agree Catherine, excellent job," Brass commented smugly, nodding his head in agreement.

McKinley smiled and clasped his hands together, "Roland was a good friend of mine. I presume you all found out that I'm a shareholder in his business?"

"Mr McKinley I recommend that you remain quiet..."

"Nah, it's okay, they got me," McKinley cast away his attorney's advice, "the two of us were good friends, we used to play golf on Saturday mornings, I'd even arranged a game for tomorrow. About nine months ago he told me that he needed some financial help, some family were suing the restaurant or something, so I recommended him to my company, of course he didn't know I was running i..."

"Wait a minute," Catherine looked up stunned, "you recommended him to your own loansharking business?"

"Well, yeah," he shrugged and began his anecdote, speaking in an unusually calm tone for someone about to be convicted for murder. "Of course I didn't want to mention the high interest rates, but anyway it started off well, he was able to pay off most of the loan, and then he stumbled and started falling behind on his payments. I mean, I could have stopped the payments, but then that was against my nature," he laughed to himself prompting horror-stricken stares from everyone else inside the room, "eventually he owed me so much I felt it was time to come clean so I met him earlier and tried to make him a deal, I wanted a bigger share in the company."

"But he wouldn't allow that," Sara continued, "I'm sure he must have been pretty annoyed when you told him you were scamming him."

"Scamming is such a crude term," McKinley bowed his head, "but yes you're right, he did get a little pissed, so pissed actually that he lunged at me, tried to beat me to a pulp actually, look," he pointed to a few bruises which lined the left side of his face and neck, "so I picked up the nesting doll and whacked him with it. Then he just dropped to the floor dead, I believe I acted in self defence."

"Generally, when people kill in self defence, they call nine-one-one and no such call was made from your phone," Brass notified him.

"There's also a fine line between self defence, and use of deadly force," Catherine added, "the coroner ruled that Mr Herriot died from multiple blunt force injuries. You didn't just strike him once; you struck him until he didn't get up again. We call that second degree murder."

"What am I looking at?"

"Ten years to life, closer to life."

McKinley sighed and held out his hands as if he was about to be cuffed, "well I've lived a good life, and I expect me being sent to the clink provides some sort of _justice_ to the families involved. Pah, justice won't bring back your loved ones; it's just a word which provides a minimal sense of comfort, doesn't it."

"Oh really?" Sara quipped, "Personally, I see it as a word which means getting scumbags like you off our streets, and I'm sure that provides us with _a lot _of comfort."

"Get him out of here," Brass called over the arresting officer, who cuffed the still smirking McKinley and escorted him out of the room followed closely behind by McKinley's attorney.

"Well that's it then, case closed," Sara smiled wearily, "I guess we better sign out and go, if I'm lucky I might be able to get about five hours sleep."

Catherine watched her get up and leave the room, upon hearing the tone which Sara had just spoken in, she remembered what Lou had told her earlier and she quickly followed Sara out the room, catching up with her by the reception for PD.

"Hey Sara!" Catherine called out to her. Sara saw Catherine approaching her and waited by the reception desk, "take tomorrow off."

"Whoa! What?" Sara asked surprised.

"You heard me, I said take tomorrow off!"

"But what..."

"No buts, just, please don't come in, have a night off and relax, have a good sleep. If I see you come in I'll just send you straight home."

"Yeah but..."

"I told you no buts!" Catherine exclaimed, Sara wasn't quite sure how to react to this. "You'll thank me for it on Sunday."

Before Sara had a chance to open her mouth to protest, Catherine had walked away, she had one more thing she wanted to get off her chest. She got her phone out, swallowed hard and dialled the number. The person on the other side picked up on the second ring, before giving them a chance to speak she said, "so dinner yeah? How about tomorrow evening before shift? Don't tell me where either, just surprise me."

Without giving the person on the receiving end a chance to speak she hung up the phone and smiled to herself as she felt the world lift off her shoulders.

* * *

><p>The sound of a vault sliding open echoed across the morgue, David carefully pulled back the cloth to reveal Joseph Huyt's lifeless body to the bereaving girlfriend. Upon seeing his body, the girlfriend didn't say anything, she just simply nodded and Nick noticed that her eyes were beginning to well up with tears. David carefully pulled the cloth back over the body and pushed the body back into the vault.<p>

Nick led her out of the morgue and they headed back towards a less depressing part of the building. Nick wasn't quite sure how to tell her that the case had no leads but still he knew he had to try and get something out of the girlfriend. "Miss Appleton," he found his voice was stuttered, unusual for him, "do you know anyone who'd had a grudge against Joe, or whether he'd been threatened in any way at all?"

Michelle Appleton groaned and began to weep, "that means you don't have anything, do you?" She wiped away tears which had begun falling down her cheeks, washing away her mascara. She was a beautiful young woman, with long dark hair which complimented her dazzling blue eyes. If Nick hadn't seen her on the worst day of her life, she would definitely have been one of the prettiest women he'd ever laid eyes on. He felt the only thing he could do was bring her into an embrace to comfort her, she managed to ask between sobs, "will I be able to get his stuff back? His wallet? His watch? His pendant?"

"Urrm, Miss Appleton," Nick said slowly and quietly, "we didn't find a pendant anywhere on Joe's body?"

Michelle Appleton's tears quickly subsided as her look of grief was replaced with a look of confusion, "but, he never goes anywhere without it! He wore it all the time, even in the shower!"

"What does the pendant look like?"

"It had the Star of David on it, Joe was Jewish after all and he was proud of his heritage. You don't think it was stolen do you?"

"Whoever took it wasn't after cash, his wallet was full and his watch was still on his wrist," Nick said through gritted teeth, his stomach began to sink as he thought about another possible motive for Joseph Huyt's murder, "I'm gonna need you to hold on here one sec."

Nick walked away from Michelle Appleton and immediately brought out his cell phone, dialling Vega's number but it went straight to voicemail, "Hey Vega, it's Nick. I've got a bad theory about the case, you're gonna have to call me back, I don't think our killer's finished his agenda with Joseph Huyt."

* * *

><p>The brilliant sunshine couldn't have been any more out of place at this moment in time. Now it was over, he just wanted to get back to his normal life and leave. He'd been staring at the stone now for a good half an hour and he'd memorised it well enough to have the inscription loop round his head over and over:<p>

HERE LIES

OLAF MAGNUS HOJEM

11.22.1918 – 6.23.2011

SOM MAN RADER SA LIGGER MAN

Greg smiled to himself; he'd remembered the first time his Papa Olaf had first told him those words when he was sixteen. He remembered how he'd always ask about his grandfather's life, both in Norway and in America and to be wowed by various stories which looking back, probably seemed to be a bit good to be true. He'd never known a time when he didn't idolise his grandfather, he even did a whole 'show and tell' project about him in third grade and was disappointed that Papa Olaf couldn't come into school.

"Gregory," a voice came from behind him, which brought him back down to earth, "you should eat something, you look skinnier every time I see you."

"It's okay mom," Greg replied, "I'm not hungry." He was telling the truth, he didn't really feel like having anything to eat right now and wanted to be left alone. He regretted how he'd never had a real chance to say goodbye to his grandfather before he'd died, it had been about two months since they'd last talked to each other but his job had prevented them from communicating ever again.

"You should come back with the rest of us," his mother spoke again, "it's not healthy to isolate yourself away from everyone."

"Okay, I'll be over in a minute," whilst his mother had always been overly cautious with him, he knew it was unlike him to stand away from the crowd, he'd always be with them making conversation or telling various stories about Las Vegas. This was different, Greg was different and he knew that his mother was right and that he shouldn't wither in front of a gravestone.

"That was an inspiring eulogy you gave there Mr Sanders," a different voice came from behind Greg, one he'd never heard before, he noticed it had a strong Norwegian accent. Greg turned around and came face to face with a man who must have been around the same age as his mother. "Peter Grimsrud, and your Papa Olaf was my uncle."

"Nice to meet you Peter," Greg shook his hand firmly.

"I've been meaning to meet you for a while, I've lived in this country for five years now and you never seemed to be around."

"Yeah, that would be my job," Greg laughed, "always taking over my personal life."

"Yes, your Papa Olaf spoke very highly of you; he talked about you every time I came to visit him. You should come to Norway some time, I'm sure you'd love it there."

"I've been planning to for a while you know, but things keep getting in the way," Greg answered truthfully. It was the third consecutive summer he'd had to cancel a trip there due to the workload. "How long did you live in Norway by the way?"

"All but the last five years of my life," Peter answered proudly.

"I hope you don't mind me asking, but I got this sent to me last week," Greg pulled out the letter that had been written to him in Norwegian, "could you tell me what this symbol is here?" He pointed to a symbol at the bottom of the letter which resembled a shield with a red background and a golden cross which was drawn inside the circle. To the left of the symbol, there was a drawing of an eagle, but its wings were stained with blood.

Peter put on his glasses and looked at the letter; he quickly gazed at Greg upon seeing the symbols, giving him a look of confusion which unnerved Greg slightly. It was obvious that Peter knew what the symbols were and that Greg was not going to like the answer, he simply whispered to Greg:

"How much do you know about Norway's history, Mr Sanders?"

* * *

><p>AN: And that is the end of the story, I know that there are a lot of loose ends, but it's something to look forward to in future stories. ;) The next story in the series, _Rush Hour _(1x03) will be published on Friday July 1, so be sure to have a look at that if you enjoyed this and the previous story. Thank you all for reading and feel free to review and let me know what you thought! :)


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